


Baby's Breath to Buttercup

by stapling_pages



Series: Hanahaki [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M, Generation Mash-up, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Tom Riddle, Rare Pairings, Sidhe, Time Travel, Tom Riddle | Voldemort Adopts Harry Potter, Tom Riddle-centric, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22671142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stapling_pages/pseuds/stapling_pages
Summary: Snapshot drabbles, inspired by flowers.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Tom Riddle/Gellert Grindelwald, Alphard Black/Tom Riddle, Augustus Rookwood/Tom Riddle, Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Tom Riddle/Rodolphus Lestrange, Death/Tom Riddle, Eileen Prince/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Ignatius Prewett/Tom Riddle/Lucretia Black Prewett, Neville Longbottom/Tom Riddle, Percy Weasley/Tom Riddle, Regulus Black/Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle & Horace Slughorn, Tom Riddle/Severus Snape, Voldemort/Tom Riddle - Relationship
Series: Hanahaki [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1472324
Comments: 15
Kudos: 96





	1. Baby's Breath | Lucretia Black and Ignatius Prewett

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to have each chapter be a different drabble, instead of posting five together. I'll probably do this for the rest of the series.
> 
> Drabble Notes:  
> 1) Tom is an omega  
> 2) I prefer A/B/O fics that focus on cuddling and pack bonds instead of sex  
> 3) Tom's emotional IQ is 0

.

It’s embarrassing how long it takes for him to realize what’s happening. Tom has spent his early years exiled from the orphanage’s fragile pack, kept company by snakes that change with the seasons. As fond as he is of them, Tom knows his serpentine companions are a poor substitute—snakes don’t have packs, after all. He’s had little practice with pack bonds.

So, for a long while, he doesn’t understand why he lets Lucretia drag him to meals. Or why he—despite being from a different house—has a standing invitation to stay in Ignatius’s dorm when Dolohov and Malfoy are particularly unbearable. Tom doesn’t understand why he seeks them out to rant about Dumbledore’s biases. Why he lets them help with his experiments.

But—it’s nice. The pack bond isn’t like he thought it would be. Tom doesn’t feel trapped or collared, doesn’t feel like he has to hide away the sharper parts of himself. He can exist as Tom Riddle in full, and that—

It settles his need to draw blood for every slight. Swallows up the desire to sink his claws into people and carve out a place for himself in them. Lets him keep his attention on things that actually interest him.

He’ll let the bond grow, for now.

.


	2. Bachelor Button | Lucretia Black and Ignatius Prewett

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Threesomes get two drabbles to their name!
> 
> Drabble Notes:  
> 1) a continuation of Baby's Breath, set a year or two later

.

He wakes to long fingers carding through his hair, blunt nails scraping gently against his skin. Instead of a pillow, his cheek is pressed against a shoulder. Going by the solid plains and breadth, it’s Ignatius. Which means Lucretia is the weight behind him. He’s warm and comfortable, aside from the dull echo of ice in his limbs and the fact he can’t breathe through his nose.

Reluctantly, Tom opens his eyes.

“Ugh.” The infirmary’s thin curtains do nothing to block out the harsh winter sun.

Lucretia drapes herself over him, shifting until he’s pinned between them and her nose is tucked behind his ear.

“How’re you feeling?” she asks.

“I’m going to destroy the sun.” Carefully, Tom attempts opening his eyes again. “What happened?” He doesn’t remember getting sick.

“Malfoy was picking fights again,” says Ignatius. He’s still petting Tom’s hair. “You tried to break it up, but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut for once. In the resulting scuffle, you got dumped into the lake.”

“Of course.” Forget the sun, he’s hunting Malfoy. As soon as Tom can drudge up the energy or want to move from the pile of limbs he’s tangled in. Later. When it isn’t quite so pleasantly warm.

Tom sighs, and lets himself slip back into sleep.

.


	3. Balloon Flower | Harry Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble Notes:  
> 1) a continuation of [Anemone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20466155/chapters/48695789)

.

Harry ignores the family of redheads clustered near him to devote his full attention to Tom’s growing list of books he thinks Harry needs.

“Harry,” Tom begins gently but before he can continue Harry turns his back on them. They’ve had this argument before, and it’s the only one Tom continues to lose. He sighs. “Fine. The potions section next—”

On some level, Harry is aware that what he feels isn’t normal or healthy. He should be trying to make friends, and not be content with only the one in his head. But he doesn’t want to.

Harry would like to believe it’s because he doesn’t want Tom to be lonely, but—

“Grimulda Vane’s _List of Alchemic Reactions,_ Brewers Society’s _Index of Household Potions_ —” He picks up the books as Tom lists them, basking in the soft happiness in his voice. “Hm . . . if you can find it, maybe—”

How _absurd,_ to pretend he doesn’t enjoy knowing there is no one else Tom could turn to for company. To know he can hoard Tom’s affections with a dragon’s greed. It settles the dizzying pit of self-loathing, carefully dug by his relatives, to know someone as jewel-bright and _special_ as Tom belongs only to him.

He won’t risk giving this up.

.


	4. Balm | Percy Weasley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble Notes:  
> 1) pretty self-explanatory I think  
> 2) I don't think Arthur or Molly care what house their kids end up in, but eleven-year-old logic, ya know?

.

Minutes later, after the sorting’s finished, the Hat’s condemning sentence of “Slytherin!” is still ringing in Percy’s ears. The chicken he’s picking his way through tastes like ash. When his mother had reassured him they’d be happy with any house he got in, it’d been with the understanding he’d in up in ravenclaw if he wasn’t in gryffindor. Now though—

“Are you alright?” He looks up to meet the dark eyes of the other surprise of their year. Tom Riddle, a muggle-born, raises an eyebrow. “You look a bit shell-shocked.” He doesn’t look concerned with the dark stares they’re getting from the upper years or their dorm mates, or the conspicuous gap between them and the rest of their house.

“I—I wasn’t expecting to—” Percy makes a weak gesture toward one of the banners hanging above their table.

“Really?” The weight of Riddle’s stare doesn’t match his flat expression and disinterested voice.

The wall of silence around them turns suffocating. It’s nothing like the dinners back home, constantly filled with warmth and chatter, and that—bitterness swallows his anxiety. He was promised acceptance and instead, Percy winds up with _this._ Yet _again,_ everyone but Percy gets what they want.

Riddle tilts his head and smiles.

.


	5. Balsam | Augustus Rookwood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble Notes:  
> 1) Augustus is the Death Eater I headcanon as being genuinely in love with Tom (or believing he is, anyway)

.

“You can’t honestly think he loves you!” the girl hisses, fingers digging into his arm. She’s the latest of the heiresses his parents have thrown at him, hoping to tempt him away his Lord’s side. A foolish endeavor.

Snorting, Augustus shakes his head as he turns to watch Dolohov try to wrap an arm around their Lord’s thin shoulders.

Of course his Lord doesn’t—an emperor isn’t required to love his subjects, or even think favorably of them. And Augustus doesn’t share Dolohov’s arrogance. It’s laughable to believe they’re entitled to their Lord’s affection, after everything. It’s enough that he’s allowed them as close as he has, that he’s made them into his Knights.

Expecting more is—

His Lord glances over his shoulder, smiles, and turns back to the French couple Malfoy is introducing.

Augustus would enjoy it, certainly. They all would. Being allowed that close—being _trusted_ enough to take care of their Lord, to see to his needs as a husband would—

There’s very little Augustus wouldn’t do for that honor.

“Look at me!” she snaps.

Derision sours his expression as he obeys. Augustus will have to put an end to this nonsense quickly, before his Lord starts doubting his intentions.

.


	6. Balsamine | Severus Snape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble Notes:  
> 1) a continuation of [Aconite](https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/20466155/chapters/48561638)

.

He needs to restock on verbena root and—

“Professor.”

Severus tenses, takes a fortifying breath then slowly turns. Artemis Peverell is—it might be a smile. The sort of default pleasantness that is anything but. Uncharitably, he thinks Peverell would fit in perfectly among the Blacks. He’s young enough to be Bellatrix’s son, even, which is a terrifying thought Severus strikes from his mind, determined never to think again. He has enough nightmares.

“Peverell.” Perhaps if he’s rude enough—

“Why is it,” Peverell steps closer, hands behind his back, violet eyes frozen, “that I had to learn from my nephew that he was in the hospital wing for a week?”

Damn it, Albus. Of all the foolish risks to take, why the one easiest to avoid?

“Surely,” says Peverell with deliberate, icy softness that brings Severus back to his days of watching Death Eaters cower under the Dark Lord’s ire. He swallows back the urge to kneel. “ _Surely,_ this is a mere oversight? An accident?”

Another step closer, and he can smell the oddly sweet cologne Peverell uses. It’s a familiar scent but Severus can’t recall the source of that familiarity.

“Kindly remind the Headmaster that Harry has other options for schooling, and that I won’t accept this happening again.”

.


	7. Bamboo | Alphard Black

.

It’s the habit of small children to have friends only they can see—“imaginary,” adults correct, as if that means something. Alphard Black is no different

His mother smiles, indulgent and a little mocking. He’s turned ten this spring and this apparently means he’s too old for make-believe. She’s right, of course, except Tom is _real._

His best friend, with eyes like black opals, who knows secrets Alphard never thought could exist. With teeth a touch too sharp and a thick, awful scar roped around his neck. His dearest friend, who always has time for Alphard—and Alphard alone.

When his mother asks after Tom, he answers this:

“His name is Marvolo,” he says, because names hold power, and _you’ll keep mine safe, won’t you?_

“He’s pretty,” he says, because it’s true. Pretty in the ways he’s learned to love—jewel-bright monsters and silken predators and black widows with their lovely webs. A spine bleached white, coiled like a whip waiting to crack. _Hold your wrist like this_ —

He doesn’t say, “I meet him when great-aunt Ella died.” With red staining her sitting room and a matching shade painting Tom’s mouth. With a jewel-bright grin and the promise of an _excellent_ treat if Alphard could keep a secret.

And—

“Would you give me your name, child?”

.


	8. Barberry | Horace Slughorn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be every other day instead of every day because life has started swinging again.
> 
> Drabble Notes:  
> 1) Tom got throw forward in time by - something. Potions accident? That used to be a popular reason  
> 2) Tom was heavily bullied until he had proof he was related to Slytherin and not faking being a parselmouth  
> 3) Slughorn thinks himself Tom's doting uncle who's aware his nephew is up to no good, but thinks its just typical school yard antics and not, ya know, world domination plots

.

“You’re lying.” Tom doesn’t bare his teeth but the tremor in his jaw says he wants to. “There’s no way I—”

The crackling fire is useless against his old student’s distress. Ice crystals bloom in their tea and frost clouds the windows. It settles in Horace’s bones with a dull ache.

“I wouldn’t. Not for them.”

There’s no need to ask who “them” is. Horace remembers Tom’s first year, and the many weeks he spent living in the old potions assistant’s quarters in lieu of his dorm. Even going into fourth year, aside from Lucretia, Tom remained exiled from his house. Learning he wasted his potential on his tormentors—

Tom snarls.

“ _Lord Voldemort_ was supposed to be a con!” Cracks eat at the cup in his hand, leaking cold tea. “The plan was to swindle the lot out of a good chunk of their money, and then _leave_. I was going to travel the world, experiment with whatever magic I wanted to, and never have to deal with their disgusting mugs ever again!”

A con that became reality because of the Horcruxes. That’s one of Horace’s questions answered. Though, why did he turn to Horcruxes in the first place?

.


	9. Bay Wreath | Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble Notes:  
> 1) Tom got thrown backwards in time by accident  
> 2) Grindelwald isn't as smooth as he thinks he is  
> 3) throughout all of this, Tom is internally screaming "wtf why is Dumbledore hanging out with Grindelwald!?"

.

Riddle slips out of Albus’s grip, edging around Gellert and toward his escape. Such a skittish creature under that confident veneer. Their unexpected guest is willing to entertain them one-on-one, but something about their joint attention unsettles him. Likely because the delicate, serene creature Albus gets doesn’t mesh well with the spider he shows Gellert.

It’s a fun game, trapping Riddle in conversations with both of them and forcing him to embody his two persona in the same breath. Albus is charmed by it. He can see why. Despite Gellert’s efforts, Riddle hasn’t slipped up once. A talented little spy—but one that isn’t likely to accept having masters.

He wraps a hand around a thin wrist, presses a thumb against a trembling pulse.

“Come have lunch with us.”

There are cracks they can use, pieces to pry apart and reshape as they please, if they can hold Riddle still long enough. A strange reluctance for attention they can wear away into a greed for it. A desire for knowledge they can feed, if they can stay ahead of him. Something truly malicious buried under layers of civility.

Gellert can hardly wait to see what form their new pet will have.

.


	10. Begonia | Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble Notes:  
> 1) continuation of Bay Wreath

.

So, which is the Mad Hatter and which is the March Hare? They’re both unquestionably mad, chasing after a children’s tale for power instead of working toward a concrete goal, wasting time that could be spent building connections and winning favors. Pathetic.

“Try this, Tom.” Dumbledore holds up a bonbon, angled as if he thinks Tom will eat from his fingers like a catamite.

The only worth-while thing he’s gained from this mess is witnessing the true extent of Dumbledore’s rampant hypocrisy. Fanciful talks of subjugating the unwashed masses, spoken over sweets and tea, all the while his brother’s resentment and his sister’s depression build. Claiming intellectual superiority while failing victim to the cheapest tricks Tom has.

A hand finds its way to his thigh. Tom swallows back to urge to stab it with a dessert fork.

Grindelwald isn’t much better, taken in by slightest hint of submission. Of all the insults his Knights could choose, they compare him to _this._ They’ll be having words when Tom finds his way back home.

This has been a quaint little side story, but Wonderland’s charms have gone stale. Tom isn’t willing to play Alice for them.

Especially when the role of Queen of Hearts suits him so well.

.


	11. Bellflower | Voldemort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble Notes:  
> 1) what do you mean this isn't how the hanahaki trope goes?

.

Once, long ago when the Dark Lord was still called by another name, he was as human as any other—his heart still beating in his chest.

But, as he was swayed by power’s siren call, he cut out his heart and placed it in the pages of his only confidant, as though it was little more than a flower plucked on a careless spring day. He grew stronger and stronger, unburdened by doubt or morality, carving away more and more in hopes of eternity. Kept company by his own heart, until—

One day, the Dark Lord forgot whose heart he held hostage. And in the crevice where that heart used to beat, something else took root.

Feed by rot and greed, watered by pretty lies, a cluster of blooms grew in his chest. Bloodied petals fell from his lips. A terrible want grew with each new flower coughed up and pressed into the pages that kept his companion imprisoned.

Who was this kept boy to deny the Dark Lord? To pretend there was anything he could do to stay the Dark Lord’s hand? It would take nothing at all to claim what he desired and rid himself of the garden in his chest. And was it not tradition for a conqueror to have something to amuse themselves with off the battlefield?

.


	12. Bells of Ireland | Eileen Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble Notes:  
> 1) the first commercial canned beer was produced in 1935, according to google

.

“Muggle alcohol? Really, Eileen?” Riddle picks up a can and takes a sip. Gags. “Ugh—not even one of the decent ones.”

She doesn’t bother trying to reclaim it, instead finishing off the one in her hand and reaching for another. Riddle runs a judging eye over the pyramid of empty cans she’s built, but reaches out to steady her hand when she tries to place the newest addition. Eileen pats his hand.

“You’re not so bad when you aren’t sucking pureblood dick.”

“How kind of you to say.” He eyes the beer can pyramid again. She should name it. Maybe Elizabeerth? “So—alcohol poisoning?”

“I could drink you under the table, and then the muggle king!”

“Right, right.”

Riddle tucks himself into her alcove, curling into his cloak in that faux-fragile way he only pulls out when he wants something. Trouble in paradise, then, or he wants something his toys can’t get him. But she doesn’t want to play his games.

Not when her parents want to marry her off to a boy who’s spent however long kissing Riddle’s feet. Not when every day of her married life will see her compared to Riddle—and found lacking.

Not when she wants to wrap her hands around that pale throat, push him down, and see what all the fuss is about—

.


	13. Bird-foot's Trefoil | Regulus Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait. I'll try to update at least once a week, but I won't make any promise beyond that.

.

Regulus isn’t stupid—he knew how things would’ve turned out. He was born to be the extra, the spare, _the sacrifice._ Dragged before the Dark Lord and branded like cattle, so Sirius could abandon his duties yet again. Expected to kneel when Mother had spent his entire life insisting that Blacks did not bow, did not submit.

Maybe he could’ve twisted things to his advantage—

“Fath—” He cuts the boy off with a hand around his face, pulls him a step closer. Riddle stares with wide, pretty eyes devoid of tears. Such a cute, obedient heir, only crying when Regulus wants him to.

“I’m not your father.” He slides his hand down until it’s wrapped around the boy’s neck. Bites back a smile when dark lashes flutter closed. Pulls, drags Riddle down to his knees.

It’s so satisfying to be the one holding the leash for once, to be in control. To finally have to power he’s been denied his entire life. To _finally_ have this fucking half-blood in his place.

Creeping fingers inch their way up his inner thigh, heading toward the closure on his trousers. Head tipped back, Regulus relaxes and lets his greedy heir have a treat.

.


	14. Bird of Paradise | Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble Notes:  
> 1) Tom can't pass on because of the horcruxes  
> 2) Death doesn't get humans  
> 3) Tom's philosophy: can't kill a problem? seduce it!

.

“Do you think I’m being selfish?”

He watches the witchling pause, fingers glowing with magic as he coaxes life from the saplings Death as collected for him. It—is quaint, for Harry Potter to have become His Master when this creature is better suited to carry that weight. But perhaps this thought is selfishness, too.

And perhaps it is selfish to enjoy having the witchling’s attention when His Master cannot manage even a dismissal. How much of the witchling’s punishment has seen Death looming over his shoulder, feed by whatever scrapes of knowledge he’s willing to part with. The witchling has an abundant understanding of the mortal world and the patience to explain it—things Harry Potter lacks.

“Selfish?” The witchling smiles. “Is Harry throwing another tantrum?”

Death leans forward, His form shifting until it’s closer to heavy, black mist instead of the robed figure He favors.

“I am to bring you to him.”

The witchling lifts his arm. Death hesitates, carefully avoids the magic at the witchling’s fingertips to wrap strands of mist around the limb. Bruises blooms under His hold, deepening until they’re bands of dark purple. His Master won’t be pleased.

“But you won’t, will you?”

Death presses closer.

.


	15. Bittersweet | Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble Notes:  
> 1\. the Riddles are a crime family, and Tom has taken over the family business

.

“ _So,_ ” Bellatrix stretches the word out as she drapes herself over Tom’s shoulders, hooking her chin on one, “the usual bet?”

She smiles as Rodolphus edges closer to peek over his other shoulder. He braces a hand on the small of his back—accidentally missing Bellatrix, _of course_ —and spreads out the photos. The Commissioner’s little alliance has been a thorn in their side since its creation but, as always, their boss has crafted a solution.

Tom sighs.

“Don’t get too carried away. I want them to do the heavy lifting for us—at least until our turncoat outlives his usefulness.” He carries on outlining their next moves.

Slowly, she sneaks her fingers over to his tie, toying with it until it’s loosened enough for her to reach the top button on his shirt. He pauses when she pops the button free but continues. Rodolphus looms over them, ostensibly taking in his orders while watching the slow reveal of skin. His hand slides lower, fingers dipping under the waistband of Tom’s trousers.

Nails tap against the table.

“If the two of you could focus for—oh, let’s say—ten more minutes,” Tom says, “then we can see if something can be done about how neglected you apparently feel.”

.


	16. Black Bryony | Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble Notes:
> 
> 1\. continuation of Bittersweet
> 
> 2\. The whole thing was Bella's idea  
> Bella: I want to top the boss  
> Rodo: same  
> Bella: ...  
> Rodo: ...  
> Bella: let's seduce him  
> Rodo: I love you
> 
> (coincidentally, that's how I think Bella/Vol/Rodo would go down in canon)

.

Smoke crowds his lungs—expensive cigars, cheap cigarettes, and the dwindling remains of gunshots. The haze turns the quiet lounge into something out of a dream. Rodolphus keeps an eye on the room, watching for guests who haven’t been invited, and pretends to ignore the pale, bare foot in his lap.

It’s difficult, when Tom shifts to cater to Bella’s whims and the pad of his foot presses down _just so,_ lifting away before things can get interesting—wonderfully frustrating, as the boss tends to be. What a picture they must make—him acting as bodyguard while his wife and the boss play lovebirds.

Rodolphus is fine waiting. He lost the bet, after all, and he still gets to take what he wants later.

He glances over and wonders. What _do_ the others think of this? How often does Rookwood fume in dark corners? Does Malfoy choke on his delicate sensibilities whenever he catches a glimpse of their games? It isn’t a boss’s place to sprawl across his lieutenants’ laps like a pretty toy and let them take him apart, after all. And what has Bella and Rodolphus done to deserve it?

Sometimes, though, all it takes is simply _asking._

And really, the previous generation didn’t off themselves.

.


	17. Bluebell | Neville Longbottom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble Notes:  
> 1\. Neville got the diary instead of Ginny.  
> 2\. The other gryffindors don't mean to be cruel but—  
> 3\. No one notices he has the diary because Neville is kind of a loner (tho not by choice)

.

“I think I hate him,” Neville writes after a particularly bad day.

He’d gotten a letter from his grandmother—complaining about his grades and how he wasn’t like _him_ —and when Neville had tried to hide it, Malfoy had snatched it up and read it aloud. No one had tried to stop him or help Neville get it back. Instead, they’d stood there, snickering under their breaths like he couldn’t hear them. And then Snape had waltzed in, took points from _Neville,_ and that had been that. Except—

“He _is_ rather arduous, isn’t he?” Tom replies. “Abraxas must be turning in his grave.”

Neville hesitates.

“Not him.” He doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t even want to write it down but—Tom can keep a secret. And who else could he tell, anyway? Neville swallows and carefully writes, “I meant Harry.”

Tom is silent for a bit.

“I know I shouldn’t, but no one expects _him_ to be someone he isn’t. He’s _Harry Potter!_ I just—” His hand is shaking too much to continue writing.

“Oh, Neville.”

The diary’s pages flutter, and Neville’s never really minded that Tom is a book and not a person but now—he really wants a hug. When was the last time he had one? Neville doesn’t remember. He curls around the diary. Like this, with his eyes squeezed shut, he can almost—

Thin fingers stroke his hair.

.


End file.
